Robert Rorabeck

To My Fingerprints - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

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Hesitating beneath the slash-pinesWhere the paper airplanes in their changing roomsFall—Starting a kind of kindergartener's fire—The hobos laugh and fartAnd sling back more wine: And the children of the blue color workers diadem the Communal pool: I suppose you haven't seen us here while I wasWriting to you, Chivalrous and diademed in witch craft: When becoming venal, trying to telephone you toCome down from your sorority'sHall: anyways, Naked sunlight falls upon the naked back of a rattlesnake, Professors ride their bicycles home: Adversaries cross the roller-skating rink, Turning it into a pugilistic ballroom, And the knights in the séances dance with death: Dance with death, While the marionettes slip into their lovers jadedBedrooms, and according to my fingerprints—Have it all-